The Becoming

He was not a musician, but liked to create symphonies out of things that belonged.He played by standing amongst the wind's whims, he played by yielding to the beat of water while the tide told of time. Tonight he belonged to a realm of untamed restlessness. He belonged to the smell of decaying bark that laced through his veins of thought. He belonged to an abundance of things, but not to anybody. That night he made music with the shadows. His footprints rang behind as he progressed under the lamplight's crimson lull. He walked by houses, and many of them looked more alive than the creatures living inside.

There was one house in particular that made him stop his own song. It was not the house that made him pause, it was the person that occupied it. Her hair reminded him of the shadows. Her skin was softer than the sun, it illuminated night. There was a piano at rest. Silence danced in the air, he waited for her to awaken it. She began, and in an instant it seemed he could no longer be a hollow being. The sound rolled into and away from him. It was a wolf howling his existence to the stars. It was a bird winging its way over borders. After the music had gone it lived still. It was a tragic thing, it left him, but with a trace.

She had created a realm, an unseen place to all but him and her. For the first time he understood the being of being human. He went back. Again, and again, every night. The moment the sky turned into an indigo sea he fled his abode. He fled with a sense of urgency to be in her realm. He grew accustomed to it, but never once did being accustomed taint the piano's purity. Every night, before the first touch of the key, his heart would stop. It would beat again as the network of notes emerged. When the last note came,it stopped again, to be christened back to life.

Seasons glided by music's demand. It was the night the heavens unleashed sparkling tears. It was the night that she did not begin.

He stayed, and after long enough his mind escaped their resting place. For the first time he realized that he had never seen the entirety of her, only heard. He was fascinated. He stood there, a ghost of night just looking in. His ice bones picked up a pebble and threw it at the window... She turned. She abandoned the piano. She walked in a way that reminded him of willows swaying before a storm. He was delicate in his approach, for it was the first time that he could see. It was her. Her eyes were the tide of time, but a tide that he could breath in while drowning. Crystalline drops rolled down her cheeks, but it did not taint her. He closed the distance between them. There was nothing but the glass to divide them. She glared upon her reflection, she cried.

For the first time he began to feel an essence of loneliness. It was an essence that had been there all along. The snow turned grave, and weighed him down as he walked away, it left a sting so sharp that it transitioned to warmth. It engulfed him, and he realized. He realized that sometimes people create. People create realms of magic at moments when they feel that they do not have their own place in one. He was not a musician, but liked to create symphonies out of things that belonged. He played by running back to her against the wind's whims. His footprints rang behind as he progressed under the lamplight's crimson lull. He walked by houses, all looked more alive than the creatures living in them but one. He stopped his own song. The music had gone, but it lived still. It lived beyond being a human being. Her hair reminded him of shadows, her skin illuminated the night. There a piano was dreaming.

His voice broke as, "I know you," escaped from his lips. The sound rolled into and away from him. He was a wolf howling her existence to what lay beyond the moon. "You are beauty!" he wailed. She crumbled, but her essence could not let it win. In an instant it seemed she could no longer be a hollow being. Silence danced in the air, he waited for her to awaken it. They were nameless, but together they became.